I sit here temporarily warmed by a roaring fire downstairs that I certainly choose to believe is confined to the wood stove, known affectionately as Woodrow. Woodrow should be extraordinarily grateful to me for that affection, since the incident when his misbehaviour and my lapse in judgment sent me to a burn center for three weeks.

As weekends go, this was a middling one for stress and accomplishment. On the plus side, I got some firewood in, got the Pastor to climb up to the peak of my roof and fix the smoke stack, I got a bit of much needed rest and I began to get caught up on backlogged e-mail.

On the minus side, my wheeler has broken down, leaving me with only my feet for transportation. This could present a problem if I get any EMS calls. (My plan is to walk briskly to the Fire Hall making siren noises.) further, after Pastor Jim fixed the smoke stack, he looked like a chimney sweep scene from "Mary Poppins." I should say in my defense that I called upon the good pastor because he used to be a roofer, I'm very nervous about hiatus, my house is two tall stories and the roof pitch is set in a style I call "Northern Fatalism."

This week I'm looking forward to three day shifts at the Forest Service, three midnight to eight a.m. shifts jail guarding, and a twelve hour shift from six p.m. to 6 a.m. at the power plant. So it's looking like a rather laid back week.